


My Oh My

by ilse_writes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Meeting Again, Older Stiles Stilinski, Reunions, Self-Indulgent, Sleeping Together, Soft Boys, Soft softer softest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilse_writes/pseuds/ilse_writes
Summary: Derek wakes up next to Stiles. It's nice.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 22
Kudos: 193





	My Oh My

**Author's Note:**

> This story and its title are inspired by the song 'Mij oh mij' (1972) by the Dutch singer Peter Koelewijn. I listened to it in the car, got home, sat down and wrote this.

Derek woke up slowly, not sure who or what had woken him. Grey winter light filtered through the cracks of the curtains, the sun not yet up but already chasing away the darkest of the night. The world outside was still asleep and he should be too. Still, he was awake, feeling like there was a reason to not want to waste time sleeping, something important, something worth being awake for. When the reason filtered through his sleep hazed thoughts, he carefully casted his arm out to his right, as if he couldn’t rely on his supernatural hearing and smell for this, as if he needed to feel it for it to be real. 

In the dusk of his bedroom he saw a pair of grey jeans hanging haphazardly over the back of a chair. A red hoodie hung from the doorknob. 

His hand inched over the mattress, from the sleepwarm fabric right next to his torso across a cooler stretch of cotton, towards another warm spot, heated by another body. A body that was as new as it was familiar. Derek rested his hand on the mattress, feeling the heat that radiated off sleepwarm skin, though not yet touching. Touching might make it real. Touching might chase it all away. He wanted to stay in this unchartered territory for a bit, this dreamlike state between sleeping and waking. Everything was possible, all his hopes and fears could come to fruition, along with all that entailed. Right now, there was just this. This was safe. This was warmth. 

He looked over at the head of messy hair that was buried in the pillow next to his. The hair was a lot longer than eight years ago, when Derek met him and his best friend for the first time in the forest. Two teenagers who stumbled into his life when it was at one of its lowest points. When Derek thought life couldn’t do any worse by him than it already did, yet it unforgivingly showed him that there was always a new hardship. The two boys had been with him for a lot of those moments, for better or for worse. One who wanted nothing to do with him at first but was tethered to him anyway and one that fought him every step of the way, trench after trench, until he was buried underneath his skin so deep that Derek didn’t know where to begin to get him out. So he didn’t. He left, yes, but not to get rid of him. He knew that he would carry him with him, wherever he would go. He had not been sure if he would ever return to him, although some part of Derek felt like that was inevitable. 

Inevitability. Fate. Or, simply, life. 

The circumstances in which they met, eight years after that first time, were soberingly normal. No life threatening situation, no dramatic reconciliation. Just a simple phone call from a long unused number, and an even simpler question: “Hey big guy, it’s Stiles. I’m in town. Want to grab dinner?”

Derek had stared for an uncomfortably long time, when he first saw him in that diner. Stiles was sitting in a booth by the window, but got up when Derek walked in. He stared too, an uptick in his heartbeat showing that Derek wasn’t the only one that was affected by their impromptu reunion. Stiles was the first one to recover though, taking a step towards Derek and spreading his arms. “Get over here, man.”

Stiles was wider in the shoulders, his body filled out with adulthood. They had almost been of a height when Derek left, had been when he returned briefly. Now, he thought Stiles had another inch on him, by the way his shoulders curled around him in the hug, automatically tipping Derek’s chin down instead of hooking it over his shoulder. His nose was pressed against the fabric of the red hoodie, the fabric smelling of laundry detergent and a pleasantly non-invasive deodorant. Stiles smelled clean, happy. There was something pleased and content about him, something that the initial nervousness couldn’t wash away, something that stayed with him throughout dinner and only intensified when they decided to continue their evening at a bar downtown. 

The nervousness returned briefly when they went back to Derek’s loft. Not his old loft, not the one that held too many bad memories for the good ones to overpower. Yet he’d liked the open plan of the place, had looked around for something similar, had found it in the past year in a newly converted office building overlooking the park.  
Not that things between them moved fast enough to warrant nerves. There was nothing rushed about it. He took Stiles home because he didn’t want to part with him yet, wanting to drag out their time together because it felt so natural to have him around. And Stiles seemed to agree, had admired Derek’s new home with the large windows that looked out over a dark park, had accepted the cup of tea Derek made him without making fun of the fact that Derek didn’t drink caffeine after nine PM.

Derek had started the night out on the couch, having offered his bed up to Stiles. The younger man accepted it without much comment, which could have been a sign to what happened a little later that night, or simply the absence of a rebelling teenage attitude now that Stiles was older.   
Stiles always had large hands, larger than his teenage body needed. He had grown into them now, confident hands that connected to strong arms. Derek felt their hidden strength when the hand gently curled around his bicep, rousing him from a feigned slumber. “I’m cold,” Stiles simply said and that was all the invitation he extended. It was all Derek needed. He got up from the couch and followed Stiles to the bed positioned at the back wall. 

Stiles got in first, sliding back into the spot he’d occupied before. Whether it was a coincidence or not, he’d picked the side Derek favoured the least, the furthest from the door. He was lying on his stomach, his arms curled underneath the pillow and keeping an eye on how Derek slid in between the sheets. He wriggled a bit to encourage Derek to come closer, satisfied when their pillows touched each other and Derek knocked his foot against his. He hooked his ankle over Derek’s and smiled in the dark. “Good night, Derek.”

Derek had spent some time looking at the way his eyelashes fanned out over his cheek, before he closed his eyes himself, deeply aware of the warm body next to his. He slept deep and undisturbed until he woke the next morning.

“You’re not already angsting over this, are you?” Despite sounding a bit raspy with sleep, Stiles still managed to sound chidingly and amused at the same time.

His voice startled Derek out of his thoughts, where he had been staring at their hands, lying next to each other but not yet touching. “No,” Derek answered and he believed the word no more than Stiles did, judging by his fond eye roll. 

He moved his hand, sliding his fingertips underneath Stiles' fingers until the other flexed his hand and linked them together. Derek rolled to his side, curling his body toward Stiles. Their eyes locked and for a long moment they just watched each other in the grey morning light. 

After some time, a sparkle of amusement filled the large brown eyes Derek was currently drowning in. "I can just hear the worrying inside your head, you know." Stiles gave his hand a squeeze. "It's almost comfortingly familiar," he chuckled softly. "But wholly unnecessary."

"What…" Derek swallowed the heavy feeling in his throat away. He was somehow afraid of the answer, even though he knew he shouldn’t be. Not with Stiles, not now, not ever. "What is... this?"

Stiles smiled, closing his eyes in contentment. He shuffled a bit closer, closing the small gap that Derek left open and pressing their tangled hands between them. "This?" He opened his eyes again, squinting with fondness. "This is nice."

The words, spoken earnestly and warmly, opened something in Derek's chest, as if it was suddenly easier to breathe. He melted further into the bed, coming nose to nose with Stiles. The other closed his eyes and smiled when Derek carefully nosed his cheek, his eyelids, his nose. "It is," Derek agreed quietly, his lips brushing Stiles'.

Stiles hummed confirmingly before he pressed a chaste kiss against Derek's lips. "It definitely is," he whispered, voice heavy with sleep again. 

Derek watched his face go slack with sleep, heard his heartbeat fall back into the steady rhythm that had accompanied him during the night. He pressed a kiss against the knuckles of the hand he was still holding and let himself slowly drift off to sleep.


End file.
